Jesse was a fox.
She was two years old, and a rich, coppery red. Her current home was the Denham Estate, but this was only a temporary lodging. She’d found a network of well-made tunnels there, and they were safe, warm and comfortable. But, restless by nature, she knew that she’d be moving on soon. Why stay in one place when the world was so vast? Change was not just inevitable, but exciting—and Jesse always liked to observe new creatures. This was why she’d become interested in the newcomer: a black and white dog who appeared to be called Spider.
Was he someone’s pet? Clearly not. He had a skinny, hungry look and always seemed anxious. On the other hand, he wasn’t vicious or wild, and he didn’t have the manic energy of a stray. What confused Jesse the most, however, was the company the poor creature kept. He spent most of his time with a gang of cats, who Jesse had come to loathe. She could see a couple of them now, padding about by the bins beside the main kitchen, so she moved further down the slope and took cover in a rhododendron. The dog crossed the lawn to join his friends. It was obvious he was starving.
Moonlight was worried, too.
Denham Manor was one of a dozen homes she considered hers, and it was probably the nicest. It was certainly the furthest from town, and perfect for the occasional weekend when she needed to relax. There were three other cats, who adored her, and she had thought it would be rather fun to present Spider to them. He’d been such an easy conquest.
Things were getting complicated, though, and she sat in the drawing room with Lady Denham, wondering what to do next. The old lady was frail and feeble. Two full-time maids looked after her, and they both had strict instructions to give Moonlight anything she wanted. One yowl in the kitchen produced not just milk, but warm milk, and there was always a bowl of something edible. Monday had been braised liver, while Tuesday had been a little too rich—some kind of spiced chicken she would have preferred to eat raw. Today, however, had been a triumph: a mixed-fish dish without a single bone, choice flesh in a creamy white sauce. The cat had overeaten, and now felt fat. When she eased herself on to the old woman’s lap, she had to work hard not to be sick. She purred, and felt gentle fingers behind her ears.
“So,” said Lady Denham quietly. “Who’s been a naughty girl, eh? Who’s been staying away and getting up to mischief?”
Moonlight yawned.
Lady Denham was a bore. The cat suspected she was dying, for she often passed out on the sofa with the TV blaring, and there was always drool around her mouth. Moonlight gazed at her now, wondering if she’d make it through another winter. Her death would be so inconvenient, for the manor was comfort of the traditional kind, and she didn’t want to lose it.
“So then,” said the old woman. “Who’s that nasty old dog?”
Moonlight arched her back, and forced herself to perform a gratitude rub—she had a whole routine of appropriate responses, and they rarely failed. She would close her eyes and stretch. She’d open them again, and butt gently with her forehead. She rolled sideways sometimes, waving her paws as if helpless. These three moves could make Lady Denham coo like a child. Nine times out of ten it would result in a sweet, as it did now: a cream puff that she didn’t really want, but couldn’t reject. She licked at the cream, surprised that the old woman had even noticed Spider.
“Is he your little friend?” she said.
No, thought Moonlight. You couldn’t call him that.
“He’s your little friend, isn’t he? What are we going to do with him?”
Moonlight was just asking herself the same question. She knew she ought to go to check on him, to be sure he was still there, and not doing something foolish. That meant going out into the cold, where the other cats were waiting, and she was losing interest in the whole silly game. She’d tricked several dogs in her time, but they’d mostly been strays who’d soon given up and moved on. Spider seemed to have an unusual loyalty, and she didn’t know what to do with it.
“You should bring him round to the kitchen,” said Lady Denham. “Feed him up a bit, no?”
No, thought Moonlight. The kitchen’s mine.
She jumped down on to the carpet. Lady Denham called her back, so she showed her backside and walked briskly into the hall. The mirrors told her she was still beautiful: there was one up ahead, so she practised her purposeful stride. There was one to the right as well, so she checked her whole aerodynamic form, adjusting her tail and lifting her hips. She could hear a servant clattering about, so she pushed through into the boot room, where a flap let her out on to the terrace. There, she breathed in the scent of hyacinths for a moment, before moving on to the pond. Spider would be waiting by the sheds and bins. That was where he slept, and she saw him at once, standing awkwardly. He was wasting away, and his fur looked awful.
“What kept you?” he asked.
“Oh, darling,” said Moonlight. “Don’t start.”
“I’m just so hungry. Did you find anything?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing at all?”
“They’re so mean. I tried and tried—I begged. What could I do?”
“I don’t know. Can dogs eat potatoes? There’s a store round the back, but I don’t know if I can digest them, and they’re covered in earth.”
“Spider, you must try. Have you checked the bins?”
“Twice. I found something in a packet, but it’s disgusting. It made me feel ill, Moonlight.”
“What, darling? Show me. Beggars can’t be choosers, you know.”
Spider picked up a crushed cardboard box. There was a picture on the front, and even though it was torn and stained with old tea leaves, the image was clear enough. A smiling woman was spooning a meaty substance into a bowl. All that remained of the dish was a smear of brown, glutinous goo where the packet had been opened and emptied. Spider dropped it in disgust.
“It’s a McKinley’s Pet Snack,” said Moonlight. “She buys them for me, but I can’t eat them.”
“It smells terrible,” said Spider. “You haven’t caught anything, have you? Anything fresh, I mean?”
“Not a thing. Oh, this is torture! They won’t have you in the house, angel. I’ve told them straight: ‘He’s not what you think! He may look like an unloved, scavenging mongrel, but look deeper. He’s a cat at heart—or he could be.’”
“I’m getting thin.”
“Yes, darling. You wanted that, didn’t you?”
“No. You wanted that. I don’t think I should lose any more weight. It’s making me feel faint, and…”
Moonlight shook her head. “Have you been climbing? That’s what you need to do, Spider. Doesn’t he, Butter? Butter, darling, tell him what he needs to do. He’s so stubborn…”
Another cat had appeared on the shed roof. This one was a youngster, with a damaged ear. She had no access to the house, but lived comfortably in one of the abandoned cottages. Hughie was just behind her, with Pigeon. These two lived with one of the servants. They knew their place, keeping to the shadows and standing by to assist Moonlight should she need them.
“Dog,” said Butter, “Moonlight is absolutely right: you should practise your climbing. It’s essential for survival.”
“You must listen to us,” said Pigeon.
“I am,” said Spider. “I’ve done what I can, but I’m facing facts now—or trying to. I’m just not much of a climber.”
“Oh, sweetheart!” cried Moonlight. “Give up now, and it’s all been for nothing. Don’t do that to us. We’ve come so far together, and here you are among those who love you most. Look, tomorrow we’ll break in and get you a proper meal.”
“But you said that days ago,” said Spider. “It’s been half a week, maybe more—”
“I do what I can!” cried Moonlight.
“I’m sure you do, but I’m so hungry.”
“You want to leave me—I can sense it.”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Leave, if you must.”
“But where would I go? Where’s the town, Moonlight? I’ve no idea where I am.”
“Just follow your heart!”
“Listen,” said Hughie suddenly. “What about a nice, fat squirrel? They can be quite tasty, if you don’t mind gristle. They’re nutritious, too.”
Moonlight turned to him. “That’s a wonderful idea, Hughie. Why didn’t you mention it before?”
“I thought you’d seen them. There are loads, up in the cedars.”
“I can’t remember everything, can I?” said Moonlight. “I can’t take responsibility for every little thing.”
“Of course not.”
“We thought you didn’t like rodent,” said Pigeon.
“It’s not for me!” hissed Moonlight in frustration. “Sometimes we have to think about others and their needs. Now, where exactly are they? Which tree?”
“Just over the bridge. There are some old ones who can’t run very fast, so they wouldn’t be hard to catch. We could get one now—I’m sure we could.”
“Spider, this is your chance,” said Moonlight. “A real hunt!”
“It would be fun,” said Hughie, and he leapt up on to one of the bins. “They’re easy to kill, squirrels. I remember when you caught that baby one, Moonlight—you kept it alive all day!”
“He tried to scratch me.”
Hughie nodded. “That’s true. You bit his legs off in revenge. He was no match for you.”
“Small creatures never are,” said Butter.
“I don’t know,” said Moonlight. “Sometimes I think my killing days are over. Isn’t there too much conflict in the world already? Why can’t we just love one another, and live in peace? That was one of the many things that drew me to Spider: he’s kind, you see, not cruel. And who wants blood on their paws?”
“I agree,” said Pigeon. “Let’s forget it.”
“Forget what?”
“The squirrel.”
“No, Pigeon—how can we?” said Moonlight. “If Spider is to learn real independence, he has to develop key skills. In any case, squirrels are filthy animals. They deserve to die.”